


Principium

by figbash



Series: Nagron [24]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Backstory, Brothers, Developing Relationship, Early Days, Falling In Love, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:03:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3099230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figbash/pseuds/figbash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"A Beginning"</p><p>Snippets of Agron falling in love with Nasir, intermingled with bits of Agron's backstory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Principium

The first time Agron sees the Syrian boy, he does not warrant much more than a glance. Agron's thoughts are taken with more immediate concerns. They are yet lacking in both able men and weaponry, but Spartacus has diverted their efforts in a desperate search for Naevia. Agron holds deep reservations about how long they can continue along such meandering path, though he knows he must be tolerant for the time being. He feels himself growing impatient for fiercer vengeance upon the Romans.

Agron takes ample notice the second time he sees the boy, for he causes quite the disturbance. The youth is dwarfed by the men on either side of him, holding his arms tightly, a prisoner for making impetuous attempt upon their leader. He is no match for their strength, but still he strains against them with futile, impotent rage. Crixus strikes the boy hard across the face, and with bloodied mouth he stares up at them defiantly, as though daring them to end his life. They discuss the boy's fate without addressing him, and Agron can tell it angers the boy further to be treated with such disregard. There is no question in Agron's mind that they should make an example of such wild little dog, but he also cannot help but empathize with the boy's helpless rage. Agron knows the pain of it all too well.

Perhaps it is the burn of the boy's anger that again draws Agron's eyes as he walks across the courtyard the next morning. Agron watches him wield sword and shield with undisciplined, careless movements. The boy is clever, though, and as Spartacus speaks words of guidance, the boy gradually adapts himself. Agron wonders at the wisdom of sparing the boy's life, and Donar echoes his thoughts.

Agron's gaze moves over the slim muscle of the boy's form, lingering upon him. 

"...A pity," he says.

The boy does not join in the evening meal. Agron finds him sitting in the courtyard, glowering at Spartacus, his anger far from cooled. Agron is uncertain whether his offer of wine will be accepted, but he is determined to learn a bit more of the fiery youth. They appear to be equally distrustful of the other as their conversation begins, but somewhere along the way, a tiny bit of Agron is warmed. It is enough to keep Agron from lashing out when the boy speaks unkind words, his smoldering anger rising from within once again. There is the briefest flash of Agron's temper, but he leaves the boy to his thoughts as he withdraws into his own.

 

*     *     *

 

Tancred is fairer-skinned than Agron, with long blond lashes for which he has endured ridicule, though Agron finds that he does not mind them. He seldom quarrels with Tancred as he does with other boys of the village. From earliest youth, a comfortable friendship has existed between them. This day they have learned to make simple bows and arrows, and they stride with serious purpose to engage in an inaugural hunt with their new creations. Duro trails behind them, curious and hopeful.

Agron whirls around when he has had enough. “Go home, Duro! You are too young!”

“I have passed another year just last month!”

Agron scowls. “You have not yet crafted yours.”

Duro looks up at him, hurt. “I can hunt as well as you, Brother.”

“I shall tell Mother you are speaking lies again,” warns Agron.

For a moment, Duro stands his ground, but then with wounded pride he relents. “I did not wish to go, anyhow!” He spits out, before running off again.

Tancred smiles after Duro's retreating form. “Give him mine, once we return. I can easily make another.”

“Are you so soft-hearted against such a brat?” Agron asks him, shoving his shoulder playfully.

“I stand as balance to the ice of yours,” says Tancred, returning the shove and smiling again.

Together they step lightly among the trees, scanning the ground for small game. Tancred touches Agron's arm, nodding wordlessly to the bushes near them. Agron draws his bow, fumbling with his whittled arrow but managing a shot at the squirrel before it darts away. Tancred takes a few steps forward, squinting as he draws his own bow, narrowly missing a hare camouflaged in the underbrush.

Agron looks upon him with admiration. “You hold greater skill at this than I.”

“It is a matter of patience. Or so my father says. A quality of which you are in short supply.”

“Though in matters of strength, the gods favor me!” Agron declares with a smirk.

“Oh?” Tancred says, locking arms with him, forcing him backwards a step. _“Now_ who is telling lies?”

They toss their weapons aside, butting heads as they wrestle each other to the ground. Tancred manages to put Agron in a lock, but Agron soon breaks free. The rough play delights them as they both struggle for advantage. They begin to throw fists, landing blows that are not quite heavy, but leave bruises in their wake.

The boys pause a moment to catch their breath. Agron's face leans closer, and his mouth meets Tancred's clumsily. It is almost as if by accident, but Agron knows what he aims for, although he does not yet hold experience in such things. Tancred's lips are soft and yielding as Agron steals another kiss, pinning him briefly before Tancred throws him off. For a moment Agron is immobilized by his own giddy laughter, lying on his back and looking up at the trees. 

Tancred climbs over him with a grin and they are kissing again, rolling across the ground as they push against each other with heady energy. Eventually Agron's fingers discover the hidden heat between Tancred's thighs, sliding under cloth to trace him with an exploratory caress. He pulls the boy's hand down to his own arousal, exhaling with pleasure, pressing into Tancred's palm. Their breathing deepens as they sink under the spell of each other's touch, green eyes meeting blue. The blond lashes fall shut, and yards away, their bows lie forgotten in the grass.

 

*     *     *

 

“You have not had moment's rest, Nasir. What drives you at such pace?”

“There is much work to be done, and I am glad to do it,” Nasir answers, slightly out of breath.

“You were not so moved by our cause, when last we spoke.”

Nasir looks at the ground with humility, unsure of how to respond. “...Much has changed in little time.”

“A feeling with which I am not unfamiliar.” Agron pats his shoulder and the brief brush of skin is electric. He looks into Nasir's eyes. “We are glad to have you.”

Nasir nods, looking away. “...I shall prove my worth to all.”

“You have saved the life of our leader. I should think that is proof enough.” Agron smiles at him, and after a moment Nasir hesitantly returns it, a glimpse of sweetness. It is an unexpected piece in the opaque puzzle of him.

Nasir falls to purpose once again, helping assemble supplies as they prepare to journey to the next villa. Agron stands watching until Nasir glances back at him. Their eyes meet, and Nasir holds his gaze. With a pleased smile, Agron takes his leave.

The next morning, Nasir spars with Spartacus shortly after dawn. His devotion to his practice is impressive, though Agron can tell that the weight of the sword causes him difficulty. It may be some time before he masters proper technique, but there are the beginnings of potential yet unformed. 

Agron's desire unfurls in his chest as he studies the movements of Nasir's body, the strands of sweat-damp hair that cling to the back of his neck, the masculine beauty of him. There is something appealing about Nasir's small, fierce form as he takes his stance for another round, his eyes burning with determination. Agron imagines how he might lay hands upon Nasir, tasting the lovely curve of his mouth as it gives him a pleasured sigh. He wants to learn Nasir's thoughts and desires. He wants to possess him until Nasir's lithe body falls spent upon his sheets, letting Agron wind arms around him as they drift into slumber.

Agron leans against a column, transfixed. In his mind he has made a decision, though he does not know what difficulties he might yet encounter.

 

*     *     *

 

Over the winter, both Agron and Tancred have grown taller by several thumb-widths. At every opportunity, Duro happily reminds them that he too has grown closer to manhood. There is much less of a disparity in height between himself and his brother.

When spring comes, it brings with it the start of lengthy preparations for the wedding of Tancred's older sister. Agron does not know the mysterious tasks to which the women and girls have set themselves, but the boys of the village aid the men in a number of important duties. A new dwelling for the couple is to be built, and there will be an entire storehouse that is filled with vessels of fermenting mead, for it will be consumed in great quantities on the evening of the ceremony.

Everything is at last prepared as the season shifts into summer. The day begins early, with cooking fires blazing to life, and Tancred's sister whisked from her bed by a large group of the village's women. It is tradition that the groom must find where they have secreted her off to. For their part, the village's men have adorned a horse with items from the groom's dowry -his best sword and shield among them- and a leather saddle that has been crafted for the event. Tancred's father brings the groom a loaf of good bread and a flagon of the first mead from the storehouse, wishing him luck in his task as the village cheers his departure.

Late in the afternoon, the groom returns with Tancred's sister safely retrieved. The women have dressed her in a gown that each of them have had a hand in sewing, and they have woven flowers into the blond braid that trails past her waist. The village gathers around them to hear the exchange of vows, and afterwards feast upon spit-roasted boar, cheeses, and toasted hazelnuts. There is music and dancing too, and as more spirits are consumed, there is much drunken singing to accompany it. Tancred finds Agron and Duro where they sit, a grin across his face and a vessel of mead in his arms. 

“Father did not care for him, although I think he has had a change of heart,” Tancred tells Agron, taking a long drink before passing to him.

“He carries the scar of a bear's claw across his back, does he not?”

Tancred nods. “I believe that is the very thing that turned my father's heart.”

“I would slay the creature without allowing it to rend my flesh,” says Duro, cheeks already turning pink from the mead.

Agron pokes him. “We shall escort you to the forest tomorrow and see you accomplish the feat.”

“Is it not impressive that he survived such brutal attack, Duro?” asks Tancred.

“...I suppose that is true.”

“You would surely impress little Odilia if you bore similar scar.” Agron gives Duro a sly glance.

Tancred laughs. “You have eyes for her? I was not aware! She is lovely, I do admit.”

“Duro has not yet spoken two words to her.”

“That is not true!” Duro asserts, pointing his finger and leaning forward. “I have spoken with her several times now.”

“Three words, perhaps.” Agron takes another swig of mead, smirking.

Duro snatches it away. “I shall seek her out this night.”

“Ah yes...” says Agron, taking on a confidential tone. “It is opportune time to discover the secrets beneath her dress.”

Tancred gives Agron a look, drinking silently. Agron smiles at him before turning back to Duro.

“Be forewarned, if you place a child in her belly, her father will require you to marry her in no uncertain terms,” Agron adds.

“That is unjust. How am I to know if I truly wish to make her my wife?”

Agron shrugs. “Such is the risk of the conquest, Brother.”

“It seems a high price!”

“Take solace in the comforts of your own hand, then,” suggests Tancred with a grin.

Duro crosses his arms. “I would never commit such an act.”

“Do not think I have not spied you, so engaged.” Agron and Tancred burst into laughter, slapping Duro on the shoulder.

“Still tongue!” demands Duro, though he too begins to laugh.

“Then take more drink and find willing mouth for yours,” Agron says, wiping tears from his eyes and regaining composure. Blushing madly, Duro gives Agron's arm a punch before leaving to seek his fortune.

Tancred's hand settles upon Agron's, locking eyes with him again. Without a word, he rises from where he sits, stepping away from the festivities. Agron scrambles to his feet, a little off balance, following Tancred into the darkness of the night.

They walk carefully around bodies that are sprawled over the ground. Agron can see movement of some dark figures here and there, locked in carnal embrace. He peers at them in distraction before Tancred pulls his arm, leading him further away. The torchlight glows dimly where Tancred stops at last, turning to embrace Agron with hands that tremble. In the distance they can hear the sounds of continued revelry that will likely extend to the small hours of the morning. 

Tancred takes Agron's hand and places it over his left breast, leaning into him for a kiss. Agron feels the frantic beating of Tancred's heart beneath his fingers. He clutches the back of Tancred's neck as their mouths meet with fervent kisses. They sink to their knees, pulling clothing away, hands roaming wildly over each other. Then Tancred turns, leaning forward onto his hands.

Agron caresses the curve of his backside, reluctant to obey the urge that seizes him. “...I do not wish to harm you.”

“I have heard tale of how it would be done.” Tancred's fingers brush Agron's thighs as he gazes over his shoulder. “...Thoughts of it have oft crossed mind, of late.”

Tancred reaches forward, searching in the folds of his discarded clothing. After a moment his hand reaches back, gripping Agron's cock with slick fingers, working him with deft strokes. It is far from the first time Tancred has touched him in such a way, but the pleasure makes Agron moan helplessly. Without thinking, he tugs Tancred's hips against him suddenly.

“Gently,” whispers Tancred, exhaling a shaky breath. His hand guides him into place. Agron presses in, and he can feel Tancred shudder deeply. 

“Pause a moment...” Tancred moves to lean on his elbows, shifting the angle slightly. Slowly he pushes back, and Agron feels himself sliding into the incredible heat of Tancred's body.

Agron begins to move, and Tancred moans softly beneath him. At first Agron's movements are tentative, but he soon becomes more bold, making Tancred breathless with each thrust inside. Agron closes his eyes, loving the sound of Tancred's pleasure. It is beautiful how their bodies fit together, how Tancred is both strong and delicate as he stretches over the ground, letting Agron fuck him.

Agron wants the sensation to last forever, but it is over far too soon. He gasps in the flood of pleasure, leaning over Tancred, holding his body with a bruising grip. When Agron's hands release him, Tancred slides away, lying down on his stomach in exhaustion. Agron lies half-draped over him, kissing his neck and across his shoulder blades.

“Kiss me again upon neck,” says Tancred in a soft voice, turning on his side, nestling his back against him.

Agron complies, kissing him from earlobe to shoulder in a slow, indulgent trail. After a moment, he begins to bite as his mouth travels upwards again.

Tancred shivers, but he does not push him away. “You have wandered from forest to rend innocent flesh?” he says, entwining his legs with Agron's.

“I find I have a taste for it,” answers Agron, pressing harder bites into Tancred's shoulder as his hand wraps around him. 

Then Agron's teeth sink into the nape of Tancred's neck.

“...Lie still and let me at you,” he says in his ear, and in delicious capitulation, Tancred obeys his words.

 

*     *     *

 

The rescue party spills into the courtyard of the temple to celebratory cheers. Agron is invigorated by their triumph, but he finds yet more joy once he hears the quiet voice beyond him.

“You suffer no wound?”

Agron turns, grinning broadly as he goes to Nasir. “The gods favor me, little man.”

Nasir peers up at him. “Call me that again, and they shall turn from you.”

Agron laughs, wanting to tell him many things all at once, but the kiss they share is enough for the moment. They hold each other's faces as their lips meet, delighted to find the other alive once again.

The quiet moments are few and far between, but they seek each other out when time affords. In the evenings they find a corner where they can sit together, speaking at length about anything and everything. Sometimes their words fall silent, and they are simply content to be in the company of each other under the night sky. 

This evening Agron wears an expression of discontent, but it has nothing to do with Nasir. The Gauls have been loudly regaling each other with tall tales of battles and conquests for some time now, and Agron's patience has reached its breaking point.

Nasir gives him a sympathetic look. “Perhaps we might find peace elsewhere...?”

Agron continues staring at the Gauls in annoyance. “They forget they do not own this temple.”

“Nor do you,” Nasir tells him, resting his hand on Agron's forearm. “We are all guests of Lucius, and he is owed much gratitude for sheltering us within these walls.”

Agron stands. “Very well then... let us seek a place of quiet.” 

Nasir follows as Agron crosses the courtyard and ascends the steps. Crixus leans against the wall, smirking as Agron passes him. Agron gives him a dark look, but Nasir pulls his arm, urging him along.

“Uncouth beasts,” murmurs Agron as they walk down the hall.

“Many such men passed through my villa. Boasting of wealth, or position... or a cock the length of his arm.”

Agron huffs. _“Fucking Romans.”_

“Do not forget the _Fucking Syrians,”_ says Nasir, smiling up at him as Agron chuckles.

“There is one that is never far from mind.” Agron's hand embraces Nasir's cheek, and Nasir closes his eyes, tilting his head into the touch. They walk further down the hall, turning into Agron's room.

Nasir pauses in the doorway, suddenly reluctant. He looks at Agron with an unreadable expression.

“Come and sit,” invites Agron, his mood brightened.

Nasir lowers himself to the bedroll with a wince.

“Apologies,” Agron says quickly, helping him. “You still suffer from wound.”

“It is nothing,” Nasir assures him. “Though I grow impatient for it to finish mending.”

“...As do I.” Agron grins, watching Nasir cast modest gaze to the floor.

“Nevertheless, I am proud to bear a warrior's brand.” Nasir's fingers touch the initial on Agron's arm, tracing the scarred lines in his flesh.

The contact sends a tremble through Agron, warming his skin. He presses a kiss to Nasir's mouth, and then another. Agron moves closer by degrees, leaning on one hand, the other squeezing Nasir's thigh. Nasir leans back against the wall, watching him under his lashes. His fingers reach out, hovering at the muscles of Agron's chest. Nasir studies the shape of them intently before he presses a hesitant touch to Agron's body. They both exhale as the touch becomes a soft caress.

Nasir's hands begin to wander lower, but Agron stops him.. “...You are in much too delicate a state.”

“But you-” falters Nasir, looking up at him in confusion.

“You act as though I have given coin,” Agron teases, smiling gently down at Nasir, cupping his cheek again. “I hold no such expectation. There is not a sum in all the world that could equal you, regardless.”

Amused, Nasir shakes his head. “You flatter with words I am undeserving of.”

“It is I who stands unworthy, yet I cannot resist pursuit of you.” Agron tips his chin for another kiss, deep and unhurried. 

When they pull apart, Nasir licks his lips, and Agron wonders whether Nasir will drive him mad with such unconscious allurement. With tentative fingers, Agron pushes aside the edge of Nasir's coat, tracing the skin of his chest. Nasir sucks in a sudden breath.

“It pains you?”

“No... you are most gentle,” Nasir tells him, a blush across his cheeks.

“You are beautiful.” Agron's touch continues, and Nasir's breathing quickens. “I have often relished looking upon you in idle moments.”

Nasir smiles, taking Agron's face in both hands. “...as I have looked upon you.” 

“I am pleased to know it.” Agron squeezes his knee, then his fingers venture to Nasir's inner thigh.

Nasir reaches up, pulling Agron's neck down. They kiss as Agron slips a hand under the waist of Nasir's braccae, finding and touching him for the first time. Nasir sighs into his mouth as his body responds to the caress of Agron's fingers. Agron feels a craving rise strong and deep within him. Nasir's arousal entices him, and it is tantalizing to imagine how it would be to have him at last. Agron desires him like nothing else, but he knows he must wait. He strokes him gently as his other hand seeks to free him.

Nasir sighs again, but he clutches Agron's arm, stopping him. “You needn't,” he breathes.

Agron smiles, bending to place kisses on his neck, then his chest, in silent persuasion. After a moment, Nasir releases his arm and Agron continues downwards, kissing his stomach. He pulls off the braccae, moving down Nasir's body to kiss the insides of his thighs. The muscle there is slim but strong, and Agron loves the feel of its taut contours under his mouth. He cannot help but place a single bite, for which he is rewarded with a soft cry from Nasir. Agron wonders at all the ways in which his mouth could rouse and pleasure him, the licentious sighs Nasir might utter from such attentions.

Agron's tongue slides down the length of Nasir's cock, and Nasir begins to moan. His fingers find their way into Agron's hair as Agron takes him into his mouth.

_“Agron...”_

There is nothing sweeter than the sound of his name upon Nasir's lips. Agron works him gently, then lets Nasir slip from his mouth, covering the length of him in kisses. He moves slowly up to the head, his lips lingering before lapping at him with sure strokes of his tongue. Nasir's back arches away from the wall as Agron takes him in again, coaxing him until Nasir throws his head back, gripping the fabric beneath them.

Agron crawls over him, desiring him powerfully once again, but he finds his ache assuaged in the beauty of Nasir. He watches as Nasir's body relaxes back against the wall, flushed with afterglow. Nasir's eyes open, and a slow, lazy smile breaks across his face as he meets Agron's gaze. He reaches out and touches Agron's cheek, brushing his finger across Agron's lips with affection. Agron leans in, touching their foreheads.

“You beguile me with your eyes.”

“As do you... with your tongue,” responds Nasir with a playful grin.

Agron laughs. “You have seized my heart.” He kisses Nasir again, and immediately it is all he wants to do. “I stand captive with little hope of escape.”

“We both stand as such,” Nasir tells him without hesitation. “I lay trust you will hold mine with care.”

Agron embraces Nasir, already forever changed by him, set upon a path that is unknown but offers the possibility of happiness yet unimagined.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> With this story I wanted to explore a few formative moments East of the Rhine, as well as Agron's tender beginnings with Nasir :) I like the idea that Agron is intrigued by him, but because Nasir is so accustomed to hiding his emotions, he's a challenge for Agron to figure out. And perhaps Agron finds that oddly enticing.
> 
> Nasir is a tiny bit bashful with Agron's advances in this one. He's no virgin, but he's still trying to find his footing in his new life (It's ok Nas! We know you just need a little time!) I depicted him like this in _Tertia Vigilia Noctis_ as well, which occurs a few stories after this one. 
> 
> I also liked writing about Agron and Duro being brothers and bickering and stuff. It was fun imagining how village life might have been for them. Mmm... boar meat and mead, a meal of champions.
> 
>  
> 
> Some thoughts:  
> -Blond or brunette, Agron likes 'em pretty... but they've gotta be tough too!  
> -Agron notices right away how much Nasir licks his lips.  
> -I enjoy putting in the tiny bits of humor between them.  
> -Tender in the beginning, rough play later on. And you can tell Agron can't fucking wait, heh.  
> -I hate to tell you this Nasir, but he's gonna break your heart a little bit... You crazy kids will be all right in the end, though :)
> 
>  
> 
> [Prurio](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3259736) is the follow-up to this story.


End file.
